


spin that globe and tell me where to fly

by manhattanvamp



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, F/F, Femslash, Lesbian Character, Mental Health Issues, New York City, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Self-Discovery, Sexuality Crisis, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Victor and Yuuri are Mila's spiritual dads, no one in band is straight, set after season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattanvamp/pseuds/manhattanvamp
Summary: Mila started off the previous skating season with a bronze medal win at the Barcelona GPF - but after injuries to both her body and her mind mar the next few competitions, she decides she needs a change. So, with the help of Victor and Yuuri, she parts ways with Yakov, applies to college, and lands a scholarship at a school in New York City that will allow her to study dance and continue skating under the coach of her fellow skater (and roommate), Leo de la Iglesia. Everything's coming up roses!Until a certain Italian skater shows up, and Mila realizes that there are some problems she can't leave on the other side of the Atlantic.





	spin that globe and tell me where to fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Write the Milasara you wish to see in the world." - Ghandi
> 
> Happy twentygayteen, fam, have some ice lesbians to start off your year right!
> 
> Real talk though, I'm so excited to share this fic with you all! This idea has been germinating in my mind for months. This fic is set after Season 1, Episode 12, but frankly I really hope everything in this fic gets invalidated when the YOI movie comes out sometime this year. That's why I'm considering this a college/modern setting AU, even though it's technically post-canon. 
> 
> Some notes about this chapter:  
> \- I have literally no clue if figure skating scholarships exist. I feel like they wouldn't? Fuck it, they exist in this universe.  
> \- Leo's fabulous lesbian coach is not named in canon, so I made up a name.  
> \- The Duncan Institute for the Arts is also made up, although I may have named it after [Isadora Duncan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isadora_Duncan).  
> \- Rather than Google Translate for my sins (because that would be a lot of sinning), I decided to just leave Victor and Mila's conversation in English, as well as Victor's commands to Makkachin. I'll just state whenever a character is speaking another language - but it's safe for you to assume that if two Russians are speaking just to one another, they will be speaking in their native tongue, for future reference.  
> \- The fic title is from the song ["Traveler" by Lostboycrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uz77sDm8yw), and the chapter title is from ["Sleepover" by Hayley Kiyoko](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6jxPFtIAnw)!  
> \- This was beta'd by the amazing [infinitehearts](http://infinitehearts.tumblr.com/)! Thank you so much for all your help, girl!

****The video call goes through on the third ring. Mila is surprised when Yuuri Katsuki’s face is the one that greets her, glowing with a wide grin.

“Yuuri?” Mila frowns. “This is Vitya’s phone.”

“I saw the WhatsApp call coming in. I wanted to see how you’re doing!” Yuuri says. “Are you all moved in?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Mila huffs out a small chuckle. Her corner of the room is sparse when compared to her roommates’ spaces – Amina’s lofted bed is covered in throw pillows and stuffed animals, with a mandala tapestry hanging on the wall beside her desk and fairy lights glowing around the bedframe. Leo’s already moved in what appears to be a miniature recording studio, complete with a Yamaha keyboard and a blue acoustic guitar.

“I’ll have to do more shopping tomorrow,” Mila says. “Everyone else has these beautifully decorated spaces, but I only really brought my clothes. And my skates.”

“Well, you’ve got a blank canvas now!” Yuuri replies brightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Can anyone go with you to help you pick stuff up?”

Mila chuckles. “Maybe I’ll drag Leo along.”

“I heard my name!” Leo pokes his head over the edge of his own lofted bed and shoots a quizzical look down at Mila. He yanks out his earbuds. “Who are you talking to?”

“It’s Katsuki!” Mila holds her phone face-up towards Leo and unplugs her own headphones. Leo’s face brightens as he waves frantically.

“Hey, Katsuki!” he laughs. “It’s been a while! How’s everything?”

“Great! Just been working on my programs. You’re gonna keep me on my toes this season, right?”

“You know it!” Leo’s eyes gleam wickedly. “Skate America is mine! I’m getting you back for Four Continents, just you wait!”

“Well then, it’ll be even more satisfying for me to take gold when you’re the one taking silver. I like a challenge.”

Leo sticks his tongue out as Mila turns her phone back towards her.

“That’s right! We’ll all be at Skate America this time.” She grins. “I’ll take gold for the women, of course, but you two can duke it out to see who gets to dance with me at the banquet.”

“I’ve been working on my moves, Mila, don’t you worry,” Leo jokes, his eyes once again on his laptop screen. “I’m gonna be even better than Katsuki at the Great Sochi Dance-Off, I promise.”

Yuuri flushes at that. “H-hey, can we not bring that up again?”

Mila cackles. “Fine. But I hope you know I rewatch the videos I took almost daily!” She veritably snorts at the look on Yuuri’s face. “Oh my god, you look like a disappointed father. I’m so sorry, dad!”

“You should be,” Yuuri grumbles, taking a seat on what Mila recognizes as their living room sofa. “After all the advice I gave you about switching coaches and going to college…”

“I like how you’re not arguing about me calling you ‘dad.’” Mila laughs harder as Yuuri’s blush deepens. “But where’s my other dad? He’ll understand my appreciation for those Sochi videos!”

“Are we talking about that pole-dancing routine he did with Chris?” Victor plops down into view and immediately glues himself to Yuuri’s side, making the camera shake as Yuuri squeaks in surprise. “That’s my favorite topic of conversation. You know exactly how to get my attention, don’t you?”

“Well, I was hoping that by calling your phone I’d get your attention, but apparently that wasn’t even enough.” Mila winks. “I had to pull out the big guns.”

“Sorry, sorry, I made the mistake of leaving my phone for two seconds.” Victor hugs a disgruntled Yuuri tighter to him. “But I’m so happy we get to discuss this, really. Remember when he lifted Chris while only holding onto the pole with his arms? If I’d been wearing panties, they would’ve been on the floor, let me _tell_ you – ”

“ _Vitya!”_ Mila and Yuuri gasp in unison – though Mila chokes it out through her giggles, while Yuuri looks about ready to combust.

“Yuuuuri, I’m just teasing!” Victor kisses his fiancé’s cheek. “Mila’s nineteen, she’s in college now! She can handle it!”

Mila rolls her eyes. _Those two are already_ so _married…_

Suddenly, Yuuri blanches, his eyes widening at the sight of something off-camera. “Makka! Makka, what did you _do?”_

He leaps off the couch, dropping the phone, leaving Mila to stare up at their ceiling fan. She hears wet paws slapping on the hardwood floor, and the jingling of a dog collar.

“Makka, get back here!” Yuuri shouts off-camera, and Mila hears someone clap their hands.

Makkachin boofs playfully.

“Makka, _no!”_ Victor calls in Russian, to an answering growl from his dog. _“Come here! No, bad dog!”_

Mila hears some scuffling sounds, and Yuuri and Victor’s voices begin to fade out of earshot.

“Hey, Victor? Yuuri? What’s happening?” she asks the empty room, unsure if she should hang up.

A flustered Victor picks up the phone, smiling apologetically. “You still there, Milenka?” he asks. He’s still speaking Russian, meaning Yuuri is probably out of the room.

“Yes. Is Makka okay?” Mila’s native language rolls easily off her tongue. She hasn’t spoken it in days, and it comes as a relief.

“Well…it seems like we either need another new trashcan, or we need to find a way to close the one we have more securely.” Victor sighs. “We got a pricey one with a heavy lid that closes automatically, because Makka likes to dig in the trash, you know, but she managed to outsmart us again.”

Mila winces. “Dirty dog?”

 _“Filthy_ dog. Yuuri’s locking her in her crate and then he’s going to run the bath. I’ve just got a few minutes before I’ve got to go help him, but I wanted to ask…ah…how you were feeling?”

Mila blinks. “Fine, I mean, I’m still learning my way around, but everyone I’ve met has been really nice. Not many rude New Yorkers yet – ”

_Oh._

She catches his drift, and swallows hard - her throat has gone dry all of a sudden.“Wait, you mean…”

Victor smiles tentatively. “Is the…um, is the medication working?”

Mila scratches her head, pausing for a moment. “Er…I think so? Like I said the last time we talked, it took about a month before I started noticing any difference. But I guess I’m feeling…not happier, exactly, but definitely less sad.”

“That’s good. That’s great, Milenka, I’m really happy for you.” Victor’s smile is sincere, and Mila is hit with a sudden, painful pang of homesickness.

_“Um...Mila?”_

_She jumps nearly a foot off the cold tiled floor and whips her head toward the source of the sound. Victor, of all people, is peeking his head around the entrance to the women’s locker room._

_“Oh, I’m…” Mila wipes her face on her sleeve. She can’t say she’s fine, can she? She’s curled into a ball in a deserted corner of the Yubileyny Sports Palace with mascara tracks running down her cheeks, for fuck’s sake. “I didn’t know you were here.”_

_“It’s almost four, Yuuri’s supposed to take the ice soon.” Victor steps closer, tugging nervously at his fringe. “I was just running back to the vending machines, and, well, I heard someone crying…”_

_A sob suddenly racks Mila’s body, and she makes a noise like a dying whale. She tries to hold her breath, to save herself from further embarrassment, but the first hiccup is followed by another, and another, until her body is trembling uncontrollably, and her cries rip themselves from her throat on their own. She buries her face in her arms, and a few moments later becomes aware of Victor’s arms around her, his voice murmuring quiet, comforting mantras until her tears ebb._

She sighs and looks away from Victor’s image on her phone screen. She hasn’t always been this close with him, close enough to bother him for a video call when she’s half a world away. The first time she met him, she was so young, and he was already on top of the world. Besides that, she’d long assumed Victor was something of a loner – she even thought that he might have been arrogant, since he didn’t socialize with the rest of the team very often.

At least, that was until the day he found her crying at the rink.

_“You thought I was arrogant?” Victor’s laughter rights like a bell through the empty hallway._

_Mila pouts, though her tears have stopped. “Well, you were never very good friends with Georgi, even though he’s nearly your age. And you would never spend time with us after practice. We all thought you were a hermit. You can’t blame us for thinking that way.”_

_“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He starts twisting the gold ring on his right hand. “I didn’t get out much back then, did I? Maybe I was kind of a hermit.”_

_“You’re much better now, though. What changed?” Mila asks the question without thinking, and she almost regrets it._

_But then Victor’s smile softens. There’s just a touch of ruefulness to it. “Well...I was depressed, you see. For a long time. And I got really good at hiding it from everyone except Yakov, and he didn’t really know how to help - not like I expected him to, but still.”_

_Mila nods slowly. Her limited interactions with Victor over the past several years suddenly make a lot more sense._

_“Mila?”_

_She glances up to find Victor fixing her with a serious look._

_“I don’t want to overstep any boundaries,” he says, “but I see a lot of myself in you, and I’ve been worried about you these past few weeks. Are you okay?”_

_Of course she isn’t. But this is the first time anyone’s asked her that._

_“No,” she breathes, barely more than a whisper._

_He nods, like he expected her answer. “Do you think it has to do with Nationals?”_

_Mila instinctively reaches over to rub her ankle, which is still in a brace, even though it’s been a long time since her very public injury - long enough that she’s missed both Europeans and Worlds. “It’s got everything to do with it.”_

_“You know, it’s very rare that a skater makes it through their whole career without a single injury. I mean, I’d already had foot surgery by the time I was your age.”_

_Mila doesn’t reply. A familiar weariness is settling into her body like a thick fog, and every one of her instincts is telling her to just drop the conversation and withdraw back into her own mind._

_“Milenka...I know you may feel like you’re under a lot of pressure.” Victor reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of it draws her back into the moment, encourages her to listen. “But one of the things that helped me the most was learning to accept help, to accept the fact that I’m never fighting alone. I want to help you fight those bad feelings, as much as I can.”_

_“I just…” Mila feels tears prick at the backs of her eyes again. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to confess: “I feel like I’m letting my family down, you know? They saved up all this money to send me to St. Petersburg, on my own, to train under Yakov, and sometimes I wonder if it was the right decision. Sometimes I just feel like he stifles me, or like I can never please him, and I hate that feeling. And now I’ve gone and ended my season by pushing myself over my limits for his sake, for my family’s sake.” She bites her lip. “I just wish there were other options.”_

_At this, Victor actually smiles. “That’s funny.”_

_Mila’s jaw nearly drops. “What could possibly be funny about that?”_

_“It’s funny because I happen to be engaged to a man who was once in a very similar predicament. C’mon, let’s go find him!”_

That was when she finally felt like he and Yuuri were her close friends. After all, it was Victor who encouraged her to get into therapy, who was willing to make time to listen when she needed to talk, who briefed Yuuri on her predicament so she would have someone who had experience with switching coaches to guide her through the process.

_“Yuuri, you went to college in America, right?”_

_“Yeah, Wayne State. Why?”_

_Mila leans back in her chair and turns away from her laptop screen to look at Yuuri. “What was it like? Balancing college with skating, I mean.”_

_Yuuri walks over from the kitchen, setting a steaming mug down in front of Mila and taking a chair for himself. “Well, I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t easy,” he says. “But all in all, I’m really glad I did it. Celestino scouted me and I managed to get a major scholarship, because he used to be an adjunct at the school. So skating ended up being less of a financial burden on my family, and they were proud of me for going abroad to get an education. And I’m glad I have a degree, and that I got to have a traditional college experience.”_

_Mila looks back at the PDF scholarship application she has open on her laptop. “Do you think my family would be proud of me if I went to college abroad?”_

_Yuuri blinks, obviously taken aback. “I thought you weren’t planning to go to college?”_

_“Maybe I could use the change.”_

That’s how she ended up here, in New York City, about to start her first year of balancing a major in dance with a professional figure skating career. Her scholarship will allow her to skate under the famed Rosa García Valdez, who also happens to be the coach of one Leo de la Iglesia. It worked out perfectly – she contacted Leo a few months ago and asked if he wanted to dorm with her, he said yes, and now she wasn’t entirely on her own in this strange new country.

“Are you all right there?” Victor asks, breaking the silence. Mila looks down at her phone and sees him blinking in confusion.

“Oh – yes,” she stutters. “I was just…thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing. Just about how lucky I am, I guess.”

Victor gives her a knowing look. “Are you homesick, Mila?”

“I – no! What would give you that idea?” Mila frowns. “I’m perfectly happy. This is where I’ve wanted to be! I’m doing what’s best for my career. And I really needed the change.” She inhales deeply, as her fingers toy with the fringe on the throw blanket on the bed. “This is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now.”

It’s a phrase her therapist taught her. She repeated it throughout her entire flight from Heathrow to JFK.

“It’s really okay,” Victor assures, his voice gentle. “It’s fine if you’re homesick. Nobody would fault you for that.”

She sighs. “Thank you, Vitya. But I’m fine. And if I am homesick, I’m sure it’ll just take a few days for it to go away. I won’t regress again, I promise.”

Victor smiles. “Well, you know I’m only a phone call away. I’m still here to talk whenever you need me. I want to help in any way I can.”

“All right, Vitya,” she giggles. “Now, shouldn’t you be with your fiancé? Makka’s a big dog, he shouldn’t have to bathe her alone.”

As if on cue, a yelp and a splash sound from somewhere off-camera.

“Uh-oh.” Victor’s eyes widen, and he grins apologetically at Mila. “I really need to go.”

“Bye, Vitya,” Mila laughs. “And good luck!”

He winks before ending the call.

Mila sighs before flopping back against her single pillow and turning her attention to the window again. Her desk sits between it and the foot of her bed, but the window will still likely be the first thing she sees every morning. Her view isn’t much – the window faces south and looks out over the rooftops of a few lower buildings; some have graffiti-covered water towers, some have little rooftop gardens, and one has a massive billboard with an ad for the latest iPhone. Two men are painting the roof across the street, while a woman tends to her herb garden on the roof next door.

New York is an entirely different animal than St. Petersburg, to say the least. There’s rivers, sure, but the buildings are all relatively new, and the city is much more concentrated – especially in Manhattan, where everybody in America seems to want to live. She hasn’t been to Brooklyn or Queens or the Bronx yet, but Leo has said they’re less densely packed.

The rink is nearby, at Chelsea Piers. She and Leo will be able to walk there tomorrow. He’s been working with Rosa for a while, since he’s from Queens, but Mila and another female skater will be starting with Rosa tomorrow – they both received the same scholarship to the Duncan Institute for the Arts, which will allow them to study dance, live in the dorms, skate with Rosa and attend international competitions. Mila doesn’t know who the other scholarship recipient is, only that they’re another international skater. It makes her a bit nervous - after all, she’ll be spending practically every day with this person, both at practice and in class. If they don’t like her, then it’ll make for a very awkward year.

Mila closes her eyes. _I’m not afraid,_ she tells herself. _This is what I need. This is what I want. I’m going to be fine. I’m going to go back to Nationals and Worlds and show everyone what I can do._

The door to the room clicks, and Mila opens her eyes to see Amina returning to the room. Underneath her glasses, her eyes are red and a bit puffy; she’s discreetly rubbing at them.

“Are you all right?” Mila asks. Normally, she wouldn’t be the first one to speak up – she’s terrible at comforting people – but Leo hasn’t heard Amina come in, so hopefully he’ll hear them talking and take over from there.

Amina startles. “Oh – no, yeah, I’m fine.”

_“No, yeah?” What does that mean, yes or no? Is that another English thing?_

Mila smiles anyway. “You’re…okay?”

“Yeah. My parents just left.” Amina gives a watery smile and shrugs. “It’s just a little tough, you know? I mean, they’re only going back to Boston, which isn’t _that_ far, but once my mom started crying I did too.”

Mila nods. “Yeah, my parents cried when I went to visit them before I came here, too. I don’t really see them all that often to begin with, but it was still sad.”

Amina blinks. “Oh, do they not live in St. Petersburg?”

“Ah…no, they live a few hours outside of it.” Mila looks down at her lap and twiddles her thumbs. She doesn’t like the direction this line of questioning could go in. “I just moved to the city on my own to be closer to Yakov, my old coach. Just…easier that way.”

Thankfully, Amina accepts the answer with a nod and turns to sit in her desk chair. Mila takes this as a sign that she won’t prod further, and breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Amina,” she pipes up, hoping to further divert her roommate’s interest, “where did you get that tapestry?”

Amina glances at the decoration and chuckles. “Urban Outfitters,” she replies, reaching up to roll one of the hundreds of tight little braids that cover her head between her thumb and forefinger. “Have you ever been?”

Mila shakes her head.

“It’s fun! Expensive, but cool. I got this from the sale section, sometimes they have decent stuff there.” Amina grins.

Mila hasn’t known her for long, but the way her blinding smile seems to light up her face like a spotlight causes something in Mila to warm toward the other girl.

“Can…can we go together sometime?” The words are out of Mila’s mouth before she can stop them. “I still need some things.”

Amina brightens. “Oh! Yeah, definitely! Maybe Leo can point us to one? Maybe a Bed Bath and Beyond too?”

Both girls glanced up at Leo’s bed, but his earbuds were in and he appeared to be bopping his head to some sort of music.

“Ah, maybe later,” Amina concedes with a shrug. “He’s lost to the world, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Mila giggles.

***

A little while later, they do go out to a few shops, and Mila is so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of _stuff_ they market to college students that she can’t bring herself to buy much. She’s on a strict budget, because she could easily blow her entire bank account on a few trinkets from Urban Outfitters or gadgets from Bed Bath and Beyond. But she does manage to pick up another pillow, a bulletin board, and a constellation-map tapestry that was steeply discounted. Amina finds a pair of ankle boots, and Leo leaves with Kesha’s _Rainbow_ on vinyl, then proceeds to sing the album’s praises all the way to the frozen yogurt shop down the street.

After their snack break they decide to walk the High Line, even though Leo complains about the crowds. Mila had seen a few photos of the place during her research before she moved here, but it doesn’t compare to the reality – even though they have to shuffle slowly forward as the line of tourists snakes along the elevated park, since it is a warm Sunday afternoon in late summer and no one wants to let it go to waste, Mila finds herself gaping at the views. Chelsea, Leo explains, is a largely residential neighborhood filled with rich young professionals, a fact that shows itself in the architecture: interspersed with former tenement buildings are breathtaking modern structures of steel and glass. Their proximity to the park allows Mila, Leo and Amina to peer into sleek, minimalist living spaces, complete with balconies and views of the Hudson River.

They walk for a long time, and then the park makes a wide curve between luxury apartment buildings towards the river. The sun turns the water into molten gold, children play in the park nearby, couples tease each other and clusters of teen girls laugh and take photos of each other. Mila can’t stop smiling – it’s so beautiful here, just a few blocks from her dorm, and to think that she’ll be _living_ here for the next four years makes her veins thrum with adrenaline.

“We should get a photo!” Leo declares, and Mila agrees. She’d talked to him before at competitions and knew they could be good friends; now she’s happy she asked if they could room together. Amina, too, seems to be very similar to Mila, although she’s much more optimistic and talkative (granted, Mila is still struggling a little with the language barrier). They’ve already discussed roommate preferences and realized that the three of them have similar sleeping schedules and attitudes toward cleanliness, which will be helpful, since they have their own bathroom. Amina may have been assigned to the room by lottery, but it appears that she’s going to fit in perfectly.

They ask a woman to take a photo of the three of them, then they all post it to their respective Instagrams.

“We’re so cute!” Amina laughs as they find a bench to sit on. “I’m so happy you both are nice. I was so worried I’d be stuck with roommates who didn’t want to be friends.”

“Nah. I mean, I think it’s better to be friends with your roommates,” Leo says as he types out a caption for his photo. “Freshman year was kind of rough because one of my roommates didn’t want to talk to me or my other roommate at all, but my other roommate and I became friends. It was nice to have a friendly face to come home too after all those long dance classes.” He looks up at Amina, grinning mischievously. “But then the bastard had to go and transfer to NYU, so now I’m stuck with you two.”

“Wow, okay,” Mila laughs, putting a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Glad to know we’re your _second_ choices. And after all your talk about wanting to be friends with your roommates, hmph.”

“Hey, you asked me to be roommates first!” Leo retorts.

“Oh yeah, were you both friends before? I know you’re both kinda famous, right?” Amina’s eyes have a slightly crazed gleam in them as she turns to straddle the bench, so she can look Leo and Mila dead in the eyes. “Did you compete against each other? Were there fun afterparties?”

“Um…” Mila glances at Leo, unsure of where to begin.

Leo chuckles. “I mean, we didn’t compete against each other, technically, because Mila’s in the women’s division and I’m in the men’s.”

“Oh,” Amina giggles, “I forgot about that.”

“But there _were_ parties,” Mila jumps in. “There’s a big banquet after every major competition, and they can be _crazy._ ”

“How crazy?” Amina perks up.

“Well,” Mila begins, leaning back on the chain link fence, “do you know who Victor Nikiforov is?”

“Oh yeah, he won gold in the Olympics, right?”

“A few times, yeah. He was my rinkmate.”

 _“Wow,”_ Amina breathes. “So you’re really in the big leagues, huh?”

“We’ve really gotta get her into figure skating,” Leo remarks.

“Let me finish!” Mila turns back to Amina. “So, he’s engaged to the Japanese skater, Yuuri Katsuki – ”

Amina gasps. “Oh, yeah, I _have_ heard about them! I’ve seen photos of them together all over the place. They’re, like, gay icons.”

“This is true,” Leo affirms, holding up his phone. He follows Out Magazine on Instagram, it appears, and a photo from Victor and Yuuri’s engagement shoot is displayed on their account, with the caption: **_Love wins! #Victuuri_ **

Mila rolls her eyes. “Like Vitya needs a bigger head. Anyway – the way they met is kinda crazy, because Katsuki used to be really shy and reserved, and still kind of is. But basically, at the Grand Prix Final banquet in 2015, he gets _hammered,_ takes off most of his clothes and challenges Yuri Plisetsky to a dance-off. Then Chris Giacometti, the Swiss skater? He brings out a _stripper pole…”_

They sit like that, regaling Amina with insider tales from the figure skating scene, as the other drinks it all in with delight. The sun sinks lower over the Jersey riverbank, but they’ve still got a few long hours left of daylight when Amina brings up a residence hall social taking place back at the dorm.

Mila isn’t keen on going, and she plans on slipping back to their room quickly and quietly while the two of them go socialize, but when they walk in and flash their student ID’s to the security guard, Amina links her arm through Mila’s. She doesn’t let go, even when they’re in the elevator.

It’s not that Mila minds the friendly touch, but she doesn’t think she’s up to socializing right now – not when they’ve been walking the city in the summer heat and talking up a storm for hours. But at the same time, she knows she _should_ be socializing – her fears of missing out and meeting people war with each other, and it just makes her want to go to bed.

But no, that’s a dangerous thought to have - it’s a depressive thought. She knows that now, and she promised Vitya she wouldn’t regress. She needs to fight through it. She might enjoy herself, right? If she misses out on this for a nap now, it might lead to similar instances in the future, and that could put her in a downward spiral.

They head down to the basement lounge, where a number of students are splayed on the colorful furniture, eating pizza and chatting with the RA’s. Leo goes over to one of them – he’s a sophomore, so he doesn’t technically _need_ to meet anyone new. Mila envies him.

“Amina!” yells someone from the far side of the room.

“Oh my god, hey!” Amina breaks away from Mila’s side to run and embrace a girl across the room. Mila has no clue how she seems to have made connections so quickly, but her surprise is quickly stifled by an all-encompassing sense of awkwardness that has her wondering what she should be doing with her hands.

She sees the refreshments table and saunters slowly over to it, pouring herself a Coke while wishing she had something, anything, to spike it with.

“Um…hi! Mila?”

She spins around to find two people, a boy and a girl, standing behind her and looking at her like she might have the power to smite them with a lightning rod or spare their lives.

“Yeah, that’s me.” _Fans,_ she realizes – this is something she’s comfortable with. It’s easy now to project confidence as she smooths her expression into one of neutrality, turning on the charm with the same vapid, sultry half-smile that’s gotten her so many advertising deals. “What are your names?”

They glance at each other, barely suppressing wide grins, and then look at Mila again. “I’m Lara, and this is Riley,” the girl supplies, gesturing to the tall, lanky blonde boy with her introductions. She tucks a cropped curl behind her ear and tugs a little on her beanie – her style is not unlike that of many women Mila has seen on the New York City streets since she’s gotten here, but it’s no less dissimilar to what she’s used to seeing in Russia; it’s a rather masculine outfit, with a plaid green shirt open over a plain white one, jean shorts, and thick-rimmed glasses.

Mila’s not sure how she feels about the look, but suddenly realizes she might be staring for too long at Lara’s body. She feels her face grow hot as she forces herself to look away.

Luckily, Lara seems to not have noticed. “We’re freshmen too, and we’re big fans of your skating,” she says.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear!” Mila had prepared herself for this, but she finds herself hoping that maybe Lara and Riley are just uniquely nerdy, and that few other students will know her name. “Do either of you skate?”

“Ah, we both used to, actually,” Riley says. He’s clearly blushing, but obviously trying to play it cool. “Not for a long time, though. But I’ve been researching more of the Russian skaters recently – that whole story with Victor Nikiforov last year really caught my attention.”

“Oh yeah, that was crazy!” Mila can’t help smiling – she’s going to have to tell Vitya about all the people who’ve mentioned him to her. “But we were glad to have him back in St. Petersburg.”

“Yeah, I can imagine!” Lara jumps in. “Do you think you’ll be back for the Grand Prix series this year?”

“Ah, yeah, actually.” Mila giggles nervously – she always gets anxious when fans confront her about personal matters like this. Lara and Riley don’t look too suspicious, but you never know when something you say off the record might leak to a major newspaper. Nevertheless, this is old news, so Mila’s fine with sharing it. “I’m all healed, and I’m here on a dance scholarship – I’m switching coaches, so I’ll be training alongside Leo.”

“Oh, are you here on that new skating scholarship?” Lara’s eyes light up.

Mila raises an eyebrow, wondering how many non-skaters would have cared to look up the information on her particular award. “Erm…yes?”

“Right! Two international skaters got it!” Riley chimes in. “I forget who I heard the other recipient was, but it’s someone from Europe, I think.”

“Oh – that Swiss girl? Bartolomei, was that it?” Lara scratches her head. “She’s eighteen, right?”

“Hm…I don’t know. I thought she wasn’t going to college.” Riley shrugs. “I thought she was from Italy or somewhere like that.”

Mila’s blood runs cold.

_Italy? No…it can’t be._

“Yeah, maybe. I forget the name, though,” Lara sighs.

_They’re not talking about who I think they’re talking about…_

“Same here.” Riley smiles apologetically at Mila. “Whatever. You’ll meet her soon, I guess?”

“Ah, yeah…tomorrow.” Mila tries to smooth out her features again, but her heart has started to pound.

 _They’re_ not _talking about her. She’s 22, maybe 23 now - why would she be starting her first year so late, if she intended to go to college at all?_

“Oh, cool! Good luck at your first practice!” Lara grins. “I’ll be rooting for you this season!”

“I mean, of course we need to root for the Americans, too,” Riley adds.

His statement neither helps nor exacerbates the tightness in Mila’s chest, but she manages a grimace anyway.

Lara suddenly catches sight of a new arrival from the elevator and darts over to hug them. Riley waves goodbye as he goes to join her, and Mila returns his gesture; when they’re gone, she stares down into her red Solo cup, trying not to think about a certain Grand Prix Final banquet not so long ago.

***

Mila heads upstairs early. She chats with a few of Amina and Leo’s friends, who seem nice – she meets no other avid figure skating fans, and she decides not to reveal her career to anyone who doesn’t ask. It’s nice to feel like a normal college student who didn’t just take a year off from school to focus on becoming one of the top athletes in the world, but after an hour she still can’t stop thinking about what Lara and Riley said, so she decides to stop pretending she’s fine and sneaks back up to her room without saying goodbye.

Her alarm goes off at 6:30 the next morning, same as Leo’s. They take turns in the bathroom – Mila first, Leo second – then run to the cafeteria for a quick, carb-filled breakfast, after which they make the short trek to the ice rink.

Rosa is waiting for them in front of the locker rooms. She smiles warmly, tossing her violet bangs out of her eyes as she welcomes Leo with a bear hug. When she pulls away, she turns to Mila and holds out a hand.

“Welcome to New York, Mila,” she says. “It’s great to meet you. Congrats on the scholarship!”

“Thank you, Miss Valdez. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Oh please, call me Rosa! And I’m most definitely looking forward to working with you, even if it means putting another Russian skater on the top of the podium.” She winks.

Mila laughs, appreciating the fact that her new coach can crack a joke. Yakov used to call Mila a wiseass whenever she tried to lighten the mood at the rink – maybe with Rosa, she can get away with a few quips. And maybe she won’t be mandated on pain of death to wear only black to practice – Yakov’s annoying rules of decorum are a thing of the past now, and Mila feels freed.

“Sorry I’m late! I got a little lost!”

When Mila turns around, any positive energy she was feeling before evaporates.

Sara Crispino’s smile is blinding. And even though it’s not directed towards Mila, the sight makes her forget to breathe, because Sara looks just as beautiful – possibly even more so – as she did on the cold night in December when Mila last saw her.

_Even if that was the night when she watched those violet eyes grow wide in shock, when her smile dissipated into a disgusted frown, when Mila’s glass heart began to fracture._

“Sara!” Rosa strides forward again and claps Mila on the shoulder. “Good to see you too, and congratulations on your scholarship. This is Mila Babicheva, your fellow recipient and your new rinkmate! Do you two know each other?”

Mila wants to melt into the floor. She wants the Zamboni driver to run her over, mercilessly, eighteen times, and she wants a classroom of kindergarteners in dulled rental skates to skate over her flattened body until she is one with the ice, like she was always meant to be.

“We’ve met,” Sara says, not daring to look at Mila as she hurries toward the locker room door.

Mila’s heart fractures a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Phichit gasp* wow I wonderrrr what could've happened? hmm...
> 
> Come yell with me about the USFSA olympic figure skating picks (#nevernotbitter) on tumblr @[vika-nikiforova](http://vika-nikiforova.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[manhattanvamp](https://twitter.com/manhattanvamp)


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